


Cold

by HOMRA



Category: K (Anime)
Genre: Character Death, Grief/Mourning, Heavy Angst, M/M, Short One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-23
Updated: 2015-10-23
Packaged: 2018-04-27 17:07:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5056849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HOMRA/pseuds/HOMRA
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When they got back to Homura that night everything was quiet. </p>
<p>No one spoke a word as they filtered into the building, some with fresh tears staining their cheeks or agony written on their faces, but not a sound could be heard save for the buzz of neon on the far side of the room. Yata stood in the center of the bar with a blank look on his face, tears having dried up in favor of absolute nothingness. The pain he felt in that moment tore something in his mind, tears refused to fall, words refused to be spoken, and he could only wonder how his heart didn't cease it's beating.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cold

**Author's Note:**

> Honestly I've always wanted to write something like this and never got around to it, so I decided to change that. ^^; I hate doing this to my otp but...I did it anyway. Don't kill me. ^^;

When they got back to Homura that night everything was quiet. 

No one spoke a word as they filtered into the building, some with fresh tears staining their cheeks or agony written on their faces, but not a sound could be heard save for the buzz of neon on the far side of the room. Yata stood in the center of the bar with a blank look on his face, tears having dried up in favor of absolute nothingness. The pain he felt in that moment tore something in his mind, tears refused to fall, words refused to be spoken, and he could only wonder how his heart didn't cease it's beating. 

The wooden floors smelled of lacquer, cigarette smoke clung to the fabric in the room like it usually did and as he approached the bar itself the floor creaked the exact way it had when they had departed and yet...everything was different upon their return. For a moment he contemplated collapsing onto the floor but he managed to drag himself into what had always been the Red King's chair, he didn't feel right sitting in it.

He closed his eyes, head dropping forward as he re-imagined how the day had played out. He had woken up next to Mikoto like he usually did, he had kissed him good morning and had been swept up in strong arms as they spent at least an hour wrapped up in each others embrace. It had been just another day to them, but both of them knew what that day had meant in the grand scheme of things. It would be their last day together.

Suoh had just broken out of Scepter 4's prison the afternoon before and it had taken every pleading word Misaki had known to say just to convince him to wait until the following day to act. That night they had set out, and despite how much he had hated going to what he knew would be his lover's last stand he knew it was bound to happen. Not even he, nor Anna had been able to change his mind. He swore that if the situation had been different and Tatara had been there then maybe the Red King would have listened, but alas, he had been the one the leader of Homura set out to avenge. 

Misaki was selfish to a degree but he knew better than to ask Mikoto not to go through with it in the end. Suoh had vowed to bring down the man who murdered his friend and that was what he did, the price had been high but he had gone out on his own terms, something that brought Yata a small amount of peace of mind. What didn't was the fact that the bar was silent.

“Is anyone going to say anything?” He asked out of anger, spinning around in the chair his lover had frequented with a look of sheer disdain, all eyes in the room widened at the sudden outburst. 

“What can we say, Yata-san?” Kamamoto inquired as he folded his sunglasses into his hands, “this is hard on all of us, this is the second time we've had to lose someone this month. What else is left to say?”

“I hope Mikoto-san and and Tatara are together now, since they can't be here with us,” Dewa sighed as he threw his head back, bleary eyes fixated on the ceiling.

“I'm sure they are,” Izumo offered weakly as he pulled a cigarette from his coat pocket, lighting the tobacco with his favorite lighter. “Tatara is probably furious with him, I bet he's getting an earful.”

Yata clicked his tongue, eyes darting around the room as a tightness swelled in his chest.

“Yeah, Mikoto-san is probably rolling his eyes or punching him for it too,” Shouhei chuckled as he brushed a stray tear from his eyes, “it's too easy to picture, really.”

“I bet he's happy not having to contain the Red Aura,” Misaki spat out bitterly as all eyes fell on him, “he always said it was the hardest part of being a King. I bet he's relieved that he no longer has to shoulder that big of a burden.”

“I bet he's got himself a castle, too.” Chitose remarked as he approached the bar and took a seat next to the skateboarder, “probably with a few fire breathing dragons and the like.”

“That definitely sounds like where you'd find him,” Bandou smirked as he nodded his head slowly, “I bet there's a bed in every room too so he can sleep as much as he wants.”

“Maybe he's a lion,” Izumo added in with a small laugh as he slowly walked behind the bar, “I always said he would have been happier that way.”

“Or maybe for them nothing has changed at all,” Anna stated sadly as she brought her knees to her chest, “maybe their heaven is Homura and they're waiting for us so things can be like they were.”

“Maybe so,” the bartender smiled as he poured a few rounds of Mikoto's favorite liquor for everyone, despite their age, minus Anna. “They'll be furious if any of us gets there before we're old though, we can't let that happen. Boys, come get a drink, we're sending Mikoto off in the way he would've wanted, no more of this moping around.”

Everyone rose to their feet minus the few of them that were already at the bar, Anna grabbed the glass of juice she was offered as everyone else grabbed their shot glasses, holding them in the air until they all clinked together.

“To Mikoto, the best damn King we could have ever asked for.”

“To Mikoto,” the group repeated as they downed their drinks. 

Misaki hated the way the alcohol didn't burn.

0o0o0o

He woke up alone, wrapped up in the same sheets he and his lover slept on every night though the Red King's side of the bed was cold this time around. He wrapped himself in the blanket, rolling until his head rested on Mikoto's pillow, his scent clung to the fabric, something that brought tears to his eyes. Twenty four hours ago Mikoto had laid where he was now, a smile on his lips as he worked a hand through his disheveled hair, but today they were in separate places on separate planes of existence. 

Misaki tried to call forth his Aura to warm himself but the once vibrant red was dull and felt lukewarm to him, without a King it was lost. He couldn't help but think that the red and himself weren't that different after all. 

Mikoto had never been affectionate, it was never his style and no matter how much they had felt for one another that had never changed. Yata understood that the older man's resolve had been set in stone long before they even crossed paths, he accepted that Suoh's duty was to being a King, and now as he laid alone in their once shared bed he reaped the consequences of choosing to fall in love with a man that was destined to disappear without a trace. 

_No blood, no bone, no ash, huh?_

If there had been any of that Misaki hadn't been around to see it, and for that reason he was thankful. 

He didn't feel like getting out of bed that day, knowing that he would only have to deal with the plans for Mikoto's funeral if he did, so he chose to seclude himself. Not even leaving to get food despite the fact Izumo asked him too, he couldn't bring himself to do it. He could practically see Mikoto's disapproving look the longer he laid there in the dark room, he needed to shower but refused to move, his stomach growled but he refused to eat, this was not what the Red King would have wanted for him. 

He did drag himself to the bathroom and to the mini-fridge in the far corner to get a bottle of water but other than that he remained in his place, eyes fixated on the empty spot where he usually laid while he occupied the space the Red King used too as if it would fill the gap he had made in Yata's fragile heart. 

0o0o0o

Izumo went to Germany with little to no warning, and as time went onward everyone seemed to forget that Homura didn't have to end just because their name faded away. He had always thought of the clan as his family but the less often they showed their faces the more wrong he felt about how he once felt. He and Kamamoto took turns watching Anna, and since the bartender left and Anna too was still mourning, more often than not she slept next to the skateboarder, filling in the space he used to occupy. 

He figured that if anyone hurt like he did it was probably Anna, who had been so much like a daughter to Mikoto that he had allowed the small girl to see a part of him no one else got to see. Yata had been the same way though the emotions they received from the Red King had been very different. Sometimes he'd ask the young girl to tell him about things her and Mikoto had done together and she'd tell him in a melancholy tone of voice. Trips to the bookstore, teaching her how to read and do math, reading stories and sharing dreams they had with one another. It filled a void in Misaki's mind, knowing that part of the Red King lived on through their memories.

Tatara was another topic of conversation, one they typically laughed through as the man had left so many funny moments around the bar in the form of his objects of interest and the films he had made. Those Anna seemed to enjoy the most.

Eventually almost everyone stopped coming around, Kamamoto came by still but that was because he felt a loyalty to Yata, and Izumo would call twice a week to make sure they were still alive and kicking but that was as far as company went. 

Misaki learned to be a better cook during that time, he also learned the importance of teaching Anna how to take care of herself so she didn't have to rely on him to do everything, per her request. They went to the bookstore every now and again, and some nights when Yata managed to scrape up enough money they'd go get dinner or desert somewhere in Shizume. He had never realized just how much Mikoto and Tatara did for Anna until they were no longer around to do it. He had a new appreciation for them after that.

Despite Izumo being her legal guardian Yata felt like he had been the one the torch was really passed on to, he was the one providing for her and taking care of her while the other man spent his days in Germany _doing research._ He'd never admit it aloud but he was bitter about that.

He never prayed in his lifetime but he found himself sometimes internally speaking to Mikoto or Tatara, things along the lines of _look at how much she's grown these past few months,_ or _are you still proud of us, Mikoto-san?_ He never got an answer back, not like he had expected too, but he had finally adapted to the change that had been forced upon him. As he tucked Anna into bed and went downstairs to make sure the front doors were locked he felt a rush of cold air pour out from the vent, something that caused a shiver to run down his spine, something that never would've happened if his lover had been alive because of the warmth his Aura always provided. 

Out of all the things that he had yet to get used too he swore that would never be one of them. 

“Mikoto-san I wish you were here,” he said aloud as he pulled the iron gates on either side of the bar windows together, locking them up for the night. The chill was yet to leave his bones, “it's freezing.” He longed to get an answer, to hear his lover's sly laugh as he wrapped an arm around him and pulled him close, drowning him in a sea of fire as he shared his warmth but instead the air continued to raise bumps on his skin. He stared blankly ahead, smelling the same scents he used too though they were fading along with the liveliness of Homura, tears poured down his cheeks. “Say something,” he called out weakly, feeling his strength and resolve crumble as he stared at a picture that hung on the wall of the man he had once called his King, the cold did not falter.

The bar was silent.


End file.
